


Dirty

by TheOtherCourse (kanevixen)



Series: Tom and Abigail Series [44]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Glove Kink, Gloves, Leather, Leather Kink, Mirror Sex, Possessive Sex, Rough Kissing, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 06:57:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5324774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanevixen/pseuds/TheOtherCourse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom’s girlfriend, Abigail visits Tom while he rehearsing as Caius Marcius Coriolanus at the Donmar Warehouse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't sure how to upload these next few, but they all revolve around Tom's rehearsal and performances in Coriolanus. This is a lead up to something exciting for Tom and Abby.

Carefully stepping over the cobblestone street, avoiding a black taxi circling about the Seven Dials statue, I crossed over and down Earlham Street, two cups of steaming coffee from Starbucks. I skipped down the block, hustling to get to my boyfriend as soon as the cast broke for lunch. Luckily the door was propped open for me to walk inside. Smiling and nodding for the house staff, Martin greeted me with a lopsided smile as he ushered me up the stairs to stage level.

“Abby,” he said warmly. “Does Tom know you’re coming?”

Enthusiastically, I nodded. “I’m off today, so he asked me to meet him for lunch. Have they broken yet?”

“No, they’re still rehearsing on stage. I’ll let you into the stalls to wait for him.”

We lowered our voices as we approached the screaming and grunting coming from within the house. “Are you all ready for the opening this week?” I politely asked.

“Yeah, yeah… barring any catastrophe. Will you be seeing the show?”

“Not for a few weeks. Tom won’t let me,” I said with a roll of my eyes. “Wants to settle in a bit, and my rehearsal schedule won’t allow me to come until after Christmas.”

He nodded pulling the door to the stage right stall for me. The lights of the darkened theatre were focused on the bare grey stage where two actors dressed in minimalist warrior gear, drenched in blood, swinging swords at each other in a choreographed way. Silently I sidestepped into the third and last row of the stalls and sat to enjoy the view. Both men were fit and absolutely virile, masculine and mouth wateringly lithe.

Hadley in his roguish, burly charm, was agile and strong, his beard and facial hair exuding strength. My boyfriend having concentrated on building muscle and bulk to play the war machine was the epitome of powerful male. Tom was in command of every muscle in his body, every tout, tight sinew, and it was captivating to watch.

The fight between the two escalated to Tom being thrown over Hadley’s body onto the floor, and I quieted a squeak of surprise, careful not to disturb or throw off their concentration. From our working together previously, I knew how much focus Tom put into his rehearsals and performances, and he hated breaking that focus.

There was a loud hissing, grunting and growling as the offensive between the men was reversed and Hadley was pressed to floor with Tom’s fist at his costar’s throat. The testosterone and male ego displayed before me was chaotic and vicious. Tom’s newly developed physique overpowering, arrestingly masculine, and almost scary. The violence and the rage between these characters was evident in their gnashing and baring of teeth, and this was just rehearsal.

Before I knew it, Josie called from overhead in the circle, “Well done, guys… well done! Go to lunch, we’ll go through this again once more after lunch, minus the blood.”

The men helped each other get to their feet. They embraced and slapped each other on the back, their camaraderie and trust clear through their smiles, inquiring that each were alright after the brutal workout.

Josie teased affectionately as if they were her kids, “Go to lunch! You can play again after a break.”

I got to my feet and approached the stage, announcing, “Tom, I’m here.”

Smiling, he turned to the sound of my voice and advanced to me. Hadley scurried off backstage after a small wave in my direction and a wink. Tom took the proffered cup of coffee from my hand, hugging and kissing me hello. I swiftly swatted him off, tasting the stage blood that covered his face with a small complaint. “Tom!”

The red drenched his face and hair, marring his beautiful face in a macabre display of Roman viciousness. We’d been reading the play together, or rather, Tom had been reading it to me, and explaining things as he went along. I knew Tom was playing a warrior, one that defeated an entire town singlehandedly. “Sorry, baby… it’s so good to see you.” He took a deep draw of his coffee and moaned as the hot liquid slid down his throat. With a raised right eyebrow, he asked, “Starbucks, Abby?”

“I like Starbucks.”

“There’s a Café Nero on the corner.”

“I know. I passed it on the way here.”

“Did you not think to get coffee from there?”

“But then I wouldn’t need to get Starbucks!”

Tom laughed and threw his arm around my shoulders, feeling his heavy leather armguards, part of his armor. “Help me take a shower so we can go for lunch.”

*

Tom was on me before the door was closed behind us, keeping prying eyes off. The cups of Starbucks that I painstakingly walked the extra two blocks for were forgotten in favor of his hands on my hips, yanking me backwards against him. His arm hooked around my waist, trapping me to his warrior build. I gasped as he buried his face against my neck, the stage blood coating every part of me he touched. Tom hustled me through the dressing room to the shower beyond, his lips tasting my skin, his leather clad hands caressing bare skin under my t-shirt, and his hard, lean muscles lining my back. I was surrounded by him and I encouraged.

“Tom,” I sighed as his teeth sunk into the curve of my neck. It took all the strength I had to stay on my feet. “What…” He licked the bite, and I nearly lost my question to the moist wet muscle painting circles of eroticism. The excitement of lust seized me, and I grasped his hair for something to hold onto. “Lunch?”

One hand sunk down to cup my sex over the denim of my jeans, and yet I felt it. His honeyed voice licked along my skin, “I’m suddenly hungry for something else entirely.” His erection pressed into my lower back, and with his voice, his touch, his desire for me, I was trembling with the need for gratification. I whimpered.

Tom grabbed a fistful of my hair in loving rough play and pressed my cheek and my breasts into the cold unyielding tile wall of the shower. “I want you, Abby.” My lover pressed in behind me, whispering his wishes, “Strip. I need to come inside you.”

I moaned, the low sound echoing around the small room. Without a moment’s hesitation, I unbuckled my jeans, the ache of lust wholly occupying every part of my anatomy. I craved Tom as much as he did me, maybe even more so. He hands yanked at the material, baring my lower body to his questing fingers. The man knelt on the tiled floor to nibble at the small of my back.

As I pulled off the rest of my clothing, Tom started the flow of water. I’m not sure how he did it because his fingers never seemed to leave my flesh. Massaging his hands over my bum, the leather adding to the sensation. I moaned his name into the tile spreading my legs for him, inviting him to touch more of me.

The hot water washed over my skin, doing nothing but heightening my awareness of every pore Tom had awakened of my body. I couldn’t feel the contrast against the cool tile and the warm water when my lover’s fingers ventured over my folds. I cried out, the fire of raw, carnal need igniting my core in abject desire.

Tom rotated me around to face him, pressing my back to the wall. He lifted my right leg up over his shoulder and licked my feminity. The claws of my fingers clutched at his wet hair. The stage blood long gone under the spray of the shower, the water erasing away the brutality of Rome, my man returning back to himself, returning back to me.

His tongue dipped between my folds, tasting me, indulging in me, languidly loving me, and worshipping me in his way. My mouth fell open, wordless whimpers, moans and sounds of pleasure showering out with every movement his tongue against me. “T-t-t-t-t-t-tom… my… Tom… aaaahhh…” Through the cloud and mist of shower and arousal, I watched him steadily press his mouth to me, eking out my orgasm, stretching out my pleasure. His blue flashed up to look at me and I nearly lost it.

His fingers joined the fray at my center, and I was falling apart with two fingers deep in my body and Tom sucking my clitoris into this mouth. I screamed myself hoarse, the effects pounding throughout my nervous system.

Within a blink of an eye, Tom had his trousers and shirt discarded, his focus intent on me. He went to remove his armguards and leather gloves, and I quickly returned to myself. “Leave them,” I croaked from an overused throat.

A mischievous grin and a powerful, predatory look, my voracious lover was on me again, anxious to see this tryst through. I found myself in his arms, my back pressed against the cool tile, my front pressed against hot male. I locked my legs around his waist, my arms around his neck, ready to take him in, fulfill his want.

“Say my name, Abigail,” he demanded breathlessly.

“Thomas.”

Raggedly, he commanded, “Again!”

“Thomas.”

“Say it!”

“ThoMAS!” He roughly thrust his cock deep in me, claiming me in his way, thoroughly, fully, completely and utterly. I was caught between his hard flesh, muscle and bone and the wall behind me, not wanting to be stuck anywhere else.

The virile man nibbled at my lips before dipping his tongue inside, coaxing mine to rub against his. When he pulled away, he looked deep into my eyes and asserted once more, “Tell me who you belong to, Abigail.”

“I belong to you, Thomas.”

For every bit that he felt possessive of me, I felt claimed by him. It was meant to be. I was meant to be his, in every sense of the word, and I knew though it was never spoken, he belonged to me. I confirmed once more, “I’m yours, Thomas.”

He growled into my neck, and took me passionately. His thrusts as demanding as his possession of me, affirming it with every push forward, every jerk, every shove, every plunge. I craved, hungered, and yearned for his outpouring of affection. For every drop of water in that shower and poured from overhead, my Tom loved me and I love him. His fingers dug into my flesh, keeping me in place, the leather pinching my skin deliciously.

I felt him deep inside me, not just physically but emotionally. He was in my blood.

I writhed and thrashed against him, seeking the next crisis that would seal us together again. Pleasure thrummed and pumped through me with ever move of his pelvis into me. I was out of breath and keening for him, begging him to find my oblivion, my afternoon delight. Tom’s thrusts began to take on a desperate, off-rhythm pace, and I knew he was close too. Panting from the exertion, he groaned, “My Abby, come now! Let me feel you surrender to me. Come!”

I did, I left go and I fell apart against and around him. His orgasm slammed into him at the same time and he crushed me against the wall. He spent himself inside me, and my walls pulled him deeper and deeper inside, until everything slowed to a stop.

After long, lazy minutes of random kisses and inarticulate caresses, Tom lowered me back to my fee and turned off the shower.

I looked at my discarded clothes, abandoned on the floor. “Tom, there’s blood all over my clothes. How am I supposed to put these back on without everyone knowing that your lunch break wasn’t about lunch?”

He winked lasciviously, “I put something in my mouth.”

I gasped in shock, “Hiddleston! Dirty!”

He laughed out loud at my indignation, and pulled me back into his arms. He landed a kiss on the corner of my mouth as I pretended to struggle away from him. “I’ve got some clothes you can wear back home. I’ll see you there in a few hours.”

“You owe me Starbucks.”

“I’ll bring the Starbucks.”

I beamed up at him and he caressed his hand over my hair in his way.


End file.
